


armstrong limit

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Class Differences, M/M, Mental Instability, S&M, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: Jensen is classified as very dangerous, very valuable and not very nice. Jared will remember that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexa_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/gifts).



> i can barely finish a mostly-air snack-pack bag of chips so this is kind of astounding for all involved.  
> happy birthday bb, i hope it hits your kinks in every way that hurts

“He’ll be in here,” the woman says, heels clapping abrasively against the floor.

Jared follows, half a pace behind, and doesn’t attempt to peer into any of the ajar doors on the right.

“He’s going away for grad school in the fall,” she pauses. “You’ve had six Companions since you signed up. That’s impressive.” she continues, meaningless chatter that Jared can barely focus on. “You should be good for him,” she adds, turns down a narrow hallway and motions for Jared to keep up.

“He had a separate Companion when he was in undergrad, but she’s gotten married and moved to Vermont. Says she likes the air up there. I can’t see why you’d want to be so cold for that many months out of the year, but Danni was always a strange duck.”

Jared makes a non-committal sound and tries to avoid running up the backs of her legs when she makes an abrupt halt.

“Look,” she says firmly, hands on hips, and Jared has the good sense not to laugh at how much smaller she appears.

“He’s not very nice. He’s not. I feel like you should know that going in.” She exhales, running a pale hand through her hair.

“He’s very smart and he can be kind--and no, that’s not the same as nice, but he won’t be singing show tunes with you anytime soon.” She curls one hand into the beige fabric of her skirt and blinks up at Jared with expectancy.

“I’m tone deaf,” he says dryly, “so I think that’s best for everyone involved.”

She smiles slowly, almost as if she doesn’t want to, and takes a deep breath, like she’s the one facing up to this man.

“Jared,” she says, swiping her badge against the doorway, “meet Jensen Ackles.”

-

Jensen is wearing gloves.

His hands are folded neatly in his lap when they enter, and he looks up quietly, gaze impassive.

He follows the long line of Jared’s body and his left eye twitches.

“You swear that Danni couldn’t commute,” he says plainly, before completely robbing Jared of any attention at all.

Jared exhales, once, and falls into place.

“You could always go and see her,” Jared interjects, cutting Mrs. Conrad off at the quick, “but you’d be arrested before you crossed state lines. So.”

The room is heavy, saturated in tension, and Mrs. C looks like she wants to simultaneously punch Jared and weep.

Jensen’s hands flex together, pivotal, small movement that Jared’s been trained to notice.

“I don’t like him.”

Mrs. C shrugs, contained. “I know, sugar. Believe me. I’ll be hearing about it for weeks. But there’s no other way for you to go to school, or, you know, leave the grounds, without him here.”

She coils her blonde hair up in a quick bun and crosses over so that she’s standing next to Jensen.

“Two,” he says tersely, and they engage in some sort of stand-off until she steps back, precise.

“You don’t need to marry him. You just need to not--” Mrs. C looks mortified at the downward trajectory of her sentence and even Jared, pretty much unbothered by most social faux-paus, kind of wants her to sink into the ground.

“That’s why he’s here, isn’t it?” Jensen says, somehow even more calmly than he’s presented thus far.

This time, no one bothers to answer.

-

Jared’s rooms are adjacent to Jensen’s, an ominous grey door settled in the dividing wall.

Jared has immediate access to Jensen whenever the need arises, and, while customary, it serves to put Jensen on guard.

They meet the next morning to hash out Jensen’s school schedule, which will now become Jared’s as well.

Jared brushes his teeth without looking, digs through his unpacked belongings for a matching pair of socks.

Everything he owns is black, laundry and life in general are easier that way. It doesn’t kill him to blend in, doing what he does, but it’s also rather difficult when you’re built like a Mack Truck.

He thinks about leaving his hair down, but then he recalls how stiffly Jensen held himself for the duration of their introduction and puts that into a bun as well.

He doesn’t bother knocking, no use setting a potentially reversible precedent, and he suffers for it.

“I have rights, you know,” Jensen says plainly, dull and focused on the Mac before him.

“And if I’m ever infringing on them, I’m sure you know the Guidebook regulations by heart, so feel free to call me out.” Jared takes the seat across from Jensen and angles it so that he can see the screen as well.

“Moral rights. The right to be treated as a functioning human being, and not as my Rank.”

Jensen’s typing, lower lip stuck between his teeth, and Jared figures now is as good a time as any.

He braces all of his weight on the balls of his heels and leans his upper body backwards as he claps a giant hand down on Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen wrenches away instantly, years of practice, and Jared’s hand only makes the barest contact. Jared wasn’t expecting anything less from a someone so highly leveled, but Jensen doesn’t bother looking up from where he’s feverishly working.

“Now that you’ve satisfied the urge, which, I hope will fortify you for the next two or so hours--and I’m assuming that’s your shelf life for not engaging in stupid behaviors--I’ll be emailing you a live copy of my class schedule.” Jensen’s back is ramrod straight, evasive from even the spine of his chair.

“After that,” he continues, a soloquist, “we can establish the rules.”

Jared makes an understanding grunt and sighs.

“You need to control the impulse to jerk away. That’s gonna make you wildly out of control when I actually need to restrain you.”

Jensen snorts, adjusts his laptop.

“When the day comes that you need to handle me,” Jensen says, “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble from this corner.”

Jared scrubs at the nape of his neck and wonders if he’s gonna be up for this kind of interaction for the duration of his year-long duty.

“I’m the only one who can touch you,” Jared says, stands, because he’s got no desire to hear whatever Jensen’s got to say in response.

“You don’t like it. I don’t like it, but that’s what you do and this is what I do. I’m not gonna give you some speech on camaraderie and making the best of it.” Jared pauses and is moderately surprised to find that while Jensen hasn't completely stopped typing, he’s probably slowed from 130 wpm to around 60.

“Everyone’s logged. Everyone’s Ranked. Just let me do my job.”

He figures that’s enough for now, or else he really will be lecturing at Jensen, and he doesn’t get paid enough for that privilege.

He turns towards that ugly grey door and is just about to put a hand on the knob when Jensen makes a sound, an almost-cough.

“It’s not a crime to hope you never have to, Jared.”

His typing doubles once more, and Jared almost misses the handle entirely.

-

On the Eichner Scale, first developed by Greg Eichner in the early 1700’s, Jensen Ranks as Pleon, and, while there are very specific sub-categories for the highest level one can be, the most important piece of information in Jensen Ackles’ file is that he is very dangerous, and very valuable.

Jared is Pleon as well, but his subcategory looks vastly different. He settles somewhere on the defensive end of the spectrum, and it bothers him less than it could.

He’d not like to be in Jensen’s shoes.

Jensen Ackles can boil the blood in a human body with a single brush of his fingertip, and he’s been classified, ranked and documented since birth.

Jared is always assigned to Pleons, but every other one he’s been in contact with has been lesser than Jensen.

There are more check-ins involved, and he and Jensen have to report to the State once a week, but other than that, it should be standard fare.

Jensen finally utilizes the adjoining door between them, and makes what Jared thinks is supposed to pass for a laugh when he sees what Jared’s reading.

“Brushing up? The test isn’t until next week.”

Jensen steps around him, unnecessarily wide berth that’s probably due to years of training.

“I heard you don’t curve the grades; they say you’re a dick like that,” Jared says absently, and Jensen laughs for real this time, uninhibited.

Jared must do a poor job of hiding his shock, because Jensen’s thick lip curls.

“Dear God, they programmed emotions, must’ve been a glitch in the system,” he says, flops down onto Jared’s bed with a looseness Jared’s not associated with his body.

“Do you want me to read the big words aloud to you?” Jared asks without looking, waves the sheaf of papers labeled JRA behind his head.

“They’ve already told me they’ll award me Biggest Asshole posthumously, Jared, so stop trying.” Jensen’s voice sounds different, but Jared doesn’t look up in enough time to catch the change.

“I’m always like this,” Jared says with a smile, “except the difference is that there’s usually more laughter.”

Nothing.

Jared suppresses a sigh and fans out pages 1A-10A across the wire framework of the table.

“Have you read these? Some P’s aren’t given clearance,” Jared says, tries his best to sound neutral instead of combative.

He does neutral well. He should stick to that.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, age 22 and a quarter. Classed Unannounced at birth, Ranked at age one, rebranded to a learning unit when parents gave up rights. Immediate Pleon, no testing required.”

Jared props his head on his chin and motions for Jensen to keep going.

Jensen shrugs like this doesn’t matter one way or the other, and fiddles with the wrinkled bedclothes Jared neglected to take care of.

“Requires skin to skin contact. Can project on multiple subjects simultaneously if all victims are touching. Excellent control. Subject shows signs of the ability to project in a crowd, but conclusive evidence is unattainable.”

Jensen turns those vacant eyes onto Jared entirely.

“Has anyone ever described how it feels?” Jared says, and then he almost winces.

_Going for the kill, there._

“Of all your faults,” Jensen says, not unkindly, “you don’t waste words.”

“I’ve not had much chance to go out and be a real boy,” he says, sardonic tilt to his mouth, “but I once brushed up against my friend Chris’ elbow in an elevator.”

“Where was--”

“My Null?” Jensen says, leans back on his palms, and, for all intents and purposes, pushes his chest forward.

“Companion,” Jared corrects stiffly, and Jensen waves a hand. “That’s what you are,” he mimicks, “it’s what you do.”

“Then where was your Null,” Jared says, slaps his left palm down on page 4A.

“Frantically chasing after me, I suppose,” Jensen says, and Jared’s already shaking his head before the words are fully out of his mouth.

“I’m not the one, Jensen. I’m not chasing you or yelling at you and you damn well better keep in my line of sight at all times.”

Jensen’s knuckles crack beneath those dark gloves and he narrows his eyes.

“I was sixteen, sir,” he says, without even a hint of sarcasm, “and I learned my lesson good enough.”

“He seized on the floor, right in front of me. I ran and got my Companion myself. He was in the hospital for a week, but he ended up alright.” Jensen hasn’t looked away, not once, and Jared expects to see a measure of pride in his eyes, but they’re devoid.

“It’s a good thing, too. I can kill within ten seconds of prolonged contact, so it’s always better to just brush up against me.” Jensen pauses, mouth twists.

“I can’t say it matters either way to my victims, but, Chris recovered.”

Jared’s white-knuckling his own leg and he hopes Jensen has the decency not to point it out.

“They classed me a flight risk. They were going to brand me a potential terrorist but Steve--my Companion at the time--intervened.”

Jared exhales. “You were sixteen,” he repeats. “The label would’ve made you as good as dead.”

Jensen blinks.

“They wouldn’t allow me to leave the Institute until I was eighteen and my sentence expired.” Jensen breaks eye contact and tilts his neck to face the sun that’s coalescing on the floor from Jared’s window.

“It’s better to have the gloves come up over the sleeves, then,” Jensen says musingly, and Jared feels trapped in his body, watching Jensen watch the sky.

“Do you still talk to him?” Jared asks, clearly a glutton for punishment. He’s trying here.

“Who?” Jensen says, bathed in light.

“Chris. Do you guys still keep in contact?”

Jared can see the tendon in Jensen’s neck, stark relief on his too-thin body.

“That’d be kind of difficult, seeing that he’s dead.”

-

Jensen’s studying to be a physicist. It seems like a lofty goal, in Jared’s opinion, but Jensen’s of the opinion that Jared’s doesn’t matter, and that’s enough of that.

His first class on Monday is Graduate Quantum Mechanics I. Jared tries to make a joke about how II sounds like more torture than the first, but Jensen just stares at him and reminds him that eight in the morning is too early to try and develop a sense of humor.

He sits in the class and his eyes wander as he attempts  to see if any other Null are in the crowd.

His kind are about as rare as Jensen’s, and most everyone ranks on a lower scale than Pleon.

Jensen’s methodical with his note taking, and he shoves his glasses up his nose approximately every two minutes.

He’s even wearing a Stanford sweatshirt, which, had they been actual friends, Jared would’ve ribbed him for, but now he just sits quietly and looks every inch like a bodyguard.

There’s a girl two rows down who visibly licks her lips every time Jared’s long body gets too cramped and he needs to stretch.

She’s very pretty but Jared’s main goal is Jensen. His only goal is Jensen.

“Maybe,” Jensen hisses, without looking up, “she’d find the class easier if she actually paid attention to it.”

Jared huffs out some air, but Jensen doesn’t sound angry, he reads as more irritated, as he’s wont to be when people aren’t following very obvious rules.

“Do you need a hug?” Jared asks, straightfaced, and Jensen pauses in his typing, eyes become slits.

“I can find an unconventional way to kill you,” he promises, deadly and honest.

“Sweetheart,” Jared says, just to mash all of Jensen’s buttons in one go, “every way but yours is conventional.”

-

He’s been with Jensen for three months when he first sees him without his gloves on.

That corresponds to them both exiting the shower at the same time, and Jared left his hairbrush in the main room of their shared apartment.

The tips of Jensen’s fingers are scabbed, and Jared’s crossing over to him without conscious thought, reaching out a hand.

“Lemme see that. How’d you manage this?” he says, but Jensen stumbles back six steps, Jared counted, and his bare chest is exposed so Jared gets a good look at how fast he’s breathing.

“You can’t hurt me,” Jared says stupidly, and Jensen nods like it’s a revelation.

“I’ve seen the light, thank Jesus,” Jensen says, monotone, and Jared throws up his hands.

“I just wanted to fucking know why all of your fingertips are bruised. If you don’t wanna talk about it, fine. I don’t even know why I fucking try,” Jared mutters, finds his brush in the corner of the couch and roughly jerks it free.

“I’m not gonna let you close enough to touch me, man,” Jensen says, casual. “I can’t undo 22 years of conditioning.” he pauses, measured. “My hands are fine.”

He turns back toward his own room while Jared is concentrating on not splintering his brush to dust.

“We have Intro to Nuclear Energy in thirty minutes. I suggest you find a shirt.”

-

Jared meets another Null in Neutrinos in Astrophysics and Cosmology, and he’s so fucking joyful he could weep.

Every Null is pressed into service at least once in their life, and it’s the worst when you’re young and single. Jared belongs to Jensen 100% of the time, and during what little time he does get off, Jensen cannot leave the Institute grounds.

This Companion has dark skin and endlessly darting eyes. He’s got a look of humor around his mouth when he catches Jensen glaring pointedly at a guy in the sixth row who is loudly snoring through a riveting discussion on stellar collapse.

He can sense others like him, they all can, so it’s not surprising that the guy’s head swivels in his direction mere seconds after Jared’s first noticed him.

The other guy raises two fists in a pump and knocks his chin in the direction of a tall, dark-haired man who is hunched over his books protectively.

Jared makes the same motion toward Jensen, but he adds an eye-roll to really get his point across. Other guy laughs soundlessly and throws Jared a thumbs up, which Jared takes to mean that his Ranked is better behaved than Jensen.

“You’re fucking distracting me,” Jensen says, shoves at his glasses. “Stop. Turn back around.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jared mutters, and then, louder, “I really hope he doesn’t make me drink the bleach again.”

There’s a distinct sound of amusement this time, and Jared counts it as a win.

-

He makes Jensen wait with him after the lecture has ended so that he can meet the guy in person. Tall and Dark leads the two, and he’s taller than Jensen while still being shorter than Jared.

The other Null and Jensen are of an equal stature, and Jared reaches out his hand to shake.

“You’re not wearing any regulation gloves, so I assume this is okay?” Jared says, looks from Tall to the Null for confirmation.

“He’s like me, you jerkoff,” the other Null says, and Tall smiles shyly and takes his hand. “I’m Tom. This is my Companion, Aldis. Sorry if we distracted you during class,” he says, big-eyed and earnest.

“I was fine,” Jensen butts in, “this motherfucker is the one who doesn’t know how to shut up.”

Jared can tell that the other two are unsure as to whether or not Jensen is joking, but he doesn’t have the time or inclination to explain that Jensen hates him and is always an asshole with no provocation.

“This ray of fucking delight is Jensen,” Jared says through gritted teeth, “and I’m Jared.”

Aldis whistles as he looks Jared over.

“You sure they didn’t class you wrong? You positive you don’t like. Grow forever, or something?”

Jared laughs, because he’s heard the joke before and Aldis is the nicest person he’s been allowed to interact with in months.

“Tested and everything. Pretty standard Null, for the most part.”

Aldis claps Tom on the back and Tom sputters for air. “Hush, big guy. You could crush my windpipe with two fingers. Well. Not mine, exactly, but anyone else’s.”

Tom looks around the empty classroom uncertainly and ducks his head. “I’m strong,” he admits with a shrug, looks everywhere but at Jensen and Jared.

“Strong?!” Aldis says, snorts out a laugh. “This bitch can pick up trains, man. He’s otherworld.”

Pleon, then. Only Pleons are assigned Companions, and Jared thinks that this one could be scary if he’s really packing all that strength.

They’re waiting expectantly for someone to reveal what Jensen can do, and Jared just knows Jensen’s gonna ruin everything, and, as usual, he does not disappoint.

“Is it my turn? If you touch my skin, your blood immediately heats to over 100°C and you boil to death.” Jensen says this last blandly and holds up his masked hands.

“Almost as much fun as throwing big shit in the air.”

Aldis passes him a pitying look and Jared makes the tiniest shrug as if to say, “what can I do about it?”

It’s Tom who breaks the ice, surprisingly enough.

“I heal pretty quick,” he muses, sharp mind. “Wanna try it?”

-

Jensen corners him when he’s about to leave on his day off, and Jared’s testy enough that he wants to shove Jensen away just so he can get some fucking space.

“When did you first know what you were?”

Jensen’s voice is bland, which is his version of polite, so Jared figures it’s safe enough to answer honestly.

“Everyone’s born with something. Most aren’t Pleons or even Mesis, but we’ve all got something. That’s how the world works.”

Jensen nods like it matters. “Thanks for the history lesson, sir.”

Jared’s arm actually rears back in an aborted swing and Jensen’s whole body lurches away.

Jared closes his eyes against the unnatural anger coursing through him, and decides maybe it’s better if he tells the story like that.

“My sister was born when I was three. She can channel electrical currents. She’s Mesis so it’s not that special or strong, but it takes skin to skin contact. It can hurt when she touches, but nothing more than a quick hum of pain, you know?”

He doesn’t know if Jensen knows at all, and he’s not gonna open his eyes enough to find out.

“It’s worse during lightning storms, probably the only reason she ranked up. Anyway. We find out when she’s what, two?”

Jared hauls in a breath, the story is exhausting. “She used to shock my parents and my older brother all the time, when I wasn’t around, but I was five and didn’t really think it meant anything to not feel it.”

He scratches at his neck in thought and Jensen politely clears his throat.

“We already knew she was bad in storms, but she got scared and ran to me so I could pick her up.” Jared laughs, amused. “My mom was screaming at me not to touch her, but I picked her up anyway and just. You know. Nothing. Just a kid holding a kid.”

Jared’s sure he looks stupid with his shut eyes, but he’s liable to punch Jensen’s lights out if he opens them.

“My mom checked me over and took me to an Institute in our hometown, yada yada. You know how it goes. Pleon. Null, high coverage.” Jared peeks open his right eye to find Jensen staring, unblinking.

“That’s why you can be kind of far from me and I can still Null you out.”

Jensen nods, thoughtful. “My Companions have always been pretty strong. I think that’s because they don’t want me to take a shit without you hovering.”

Jared shrugs, done.

“My parents had to actively use their gifts, Jeff too. It’s the uncontrollable ones, I guess.”

Jensen’s mouth settles into a thin, pink line and Jared can feel his temperature rising.

“Thanks for that,” Jensen says dryly. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then,” Jensen says, already turning away to do--whatever it is he does when Jared’s away.

“Unfortunately,” Jared replies, and if he’s not exactly quiet about it, who’s there to give a fuck?

-

Jensen hates the weekly reports to the State.

He’s usually rather vocal about his likes and dislikes, but he doesn’t come right out and say it, which Jared can appreciate.

They ride there in silence, government issued car holding them both in the backseat.

Jared doesn’t have any leg room and Jensen’s crammed as close to his window as he can get without hanging out of it.

He’s always relieved when they make it there, even though Jensen is fiddling with his gloves the entire time.

“Name and Rank,” the automaton says, bored. “Jared T. Padalecki, Pleon,” Jared says, just like every time before this. Jensen follows suit, voice surprisingly civil, and they’re documented as having visited and steered into the exam room.

“Gloves, Mr. Ackles, if you please.”

Jensen makes a great show of appearing aloof, but Jared reads the savage line of his spine and thinks otherwise.

Jensen hates his bare hands and Jared looks at the thick scabbing on each fingertip. Jensen has yet to explain that to him.

“Mr. Padalecki,” the examiner says, dismissing Jared as effectively as Nulls usually are. Jared holds the contempt he feels for the practice in his chest, and the examiner glances once at Jared to make sure he’s adjacent to Jensen before he touches the skin on Jensen’s palm.

Jensen’s body is vibrating, minutely, but the examiner either can’t tell or doesn’t care, and that settles wrong.

“Can you touch your Companion’s skin, please,” the examiner says, jots down the same notes he always does.

“It’s the same every week, Doc,” Jensen says, feigning a lightness Jared knows he doesn’t feel.

“He doesn’t get any less--him,” Jensen says with a wave of a hand, and Jared’s inclined to agree.

“If you’re uncooperative, the most rational assumption will be that something has changed between the two of you, and your compatibility would be compromised.”

Jensen sucks his air in through his teeth.

“I get it. I got it.”

Jensen’s hand is unsteady, non callused and soft as he presses it to Jared’s bicep.

Jensen hates hand-to-hand contact the most.

It trembles the whole seven seconds the doctor allows the touch and as soon as the man gives the go-ahead, Jensen’s got his gloves on his fingers like magic.

“Any residual pain, Mr. Padalecki?”

Jared snorts, leans forward to rest his knuckles on the table.

“No, sir. And I think you know that.” The examiner and Jensen both look up at him in some surprise; he tends to stay silent during these things.

“Give him a break. It’s not easy being a gun.”

The examiner closes his binder and nods politely at Jensen.

“Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I trust you can find your way out.”

They’ve seen the same State-issued examiner every time they’ve come, and they can’t remember his name.

It’s not until they’re being driven back to the Institute that Jensen speaks.

“You run warm,” Jensen notes, and Jared can’t think up a suitable response.

-

On a Thursday, the University is placed on lockdown.

They’re not told the reasoning behind it, but Jared received a mandated telephone call ordering him and his Ranked back to the Institute immediately.

A personal car is already waiting for them and Jared and Jensen rush past Tom and Aldis, who are sprinting to their vehicle.

Jensen is tense the whole way home, which is saying something, and Jared wonders about the shitstorm he would unleash if he attempted to pat Jensen’s shoulder in comfort.

There’s no one there to greet them, which irritates Jensen to no end and slightly raises Jared’s hackles.

The news is on, though, and Jensen settles in front of the screen fitfully while Jared keeps one eye on him and attempts to search for someone in charge.

“Jared! Jared, come here!” Jensen calls, frantic, and Jared’s by his side in an instant, kneeling so close he can see the flecks of gold swimming in Jensen’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jensen’s not looking at him, eyes still focused on the projector.

“Shut up! Shut up and look at the news!”

Jared finds himself doing just that, even though he’d rather bash Jensen’s head in.

“...the latest in a string of drainings, it appears that the Leech has struck again, this time, in our own city. According to reports, he was last seen in Nevada, several months ago. There have been no reported incidents up until today…”

Jared stands, knocking his chair back a few paces.

“Have we locked the doors? You need to call Mrs. C and let her know we’re back.”

Jared doesn’t stop to see if Jensen’s retaining any of this, hustles around their shared space instead, double-bolts windows, checks the security footage the Institute is supposed to handle.

When he makes his way back to the living room, Jensen’s still got his elbows propped on knees and he’s turned the TV up to an almost unbearable volume.

“Jensen. Jensen, I need you to get up and make the call.” Jared modulates his voice as calmly as he can but Jensen’s still unresponsive, follows live aerial footage of what looks like an office building.

Jared sinks to his haunches, closer than Jensen’s ever allowed him to be. Jared purposefully intimidates those who would even try to sit near Jensen in lecture halls, and it’s not like Jensen does anything at all to hide his Rank.

Still, Jensen’s barely breathing, fingers steepled underneath his chin and Jared doesn’t get it, probably never will.

There’s no reason for his hand to squarely palm the center of Jensen’s chest, but the backhand he receives for it is answer enough.

Jared lands on his ass, a stranger to being knocked down, and Jensen is across the room, struggling to take his gloves _off_

Jared’s face smarts but he’s in one piece and Jensen’s eyes dart from the still-screaming TV to Jared’s left cheek.

“Stay away from me.”

Jared laughs, barely audible over the blare.

“Make the call!” he hollers, but Jensen’s already turned away.

-

They have no idea who the Leech is.

It’s above the pay grade of anyone below Pleon and Jared knows they’d have brought the motherfucker in well before this if they thought they had a chance of catching him.

Tom’s sitting in the shade, textbook balanced in his lap with another held in his hand, and if Jared thinks it’s a dead giveaway that he can hold a 500 page hardback in one hand for hours on end, that’s his business.

Aldis has a lesser range of coverage than Jared, so he sits relatively close to his charge.

Jensen is as far away from the other three as he can get without actually exiting Jared’s sphere, and they haven’t exchanged a word in a week.

That’s just as well.

Jared never has anything to say to him anyway.

“Do you think they’ve got any leads on him?” Aldis says, sprawls out on his back while Tom makes a noise of concentration.

Jared’s eyes dart toward Jensen and he shrugs.

“Not a chance. He doesn’t leech often enough.”

Aldis grunts as he sits up and slaps a highlighter into Tom’s open palm.

“They don’t have someone that can, I don’t know man, study him? Another leech? We took enough tests growing up,” Aldis grumbles, eyes heavenward.

Jared bends his own legs underneath him and raises a hand against the sun threatening to peek through the tree that shadows them.

“There aren’t that many, I hear,” Jared says, and Jensen clears his throat behind them.

“You wouldn’t want to get close enough to study a leech,” he says, and he doesn’t sound pretentious, doesn’t sound like much of anything.

Jared wonders how he can turn the pages of his binder with his gloves stuck to his skin, but he ignores that in favor of scooting closer to his Ranked.

“I don’t know, I figure Aldis and I could handle it,” Jared says, smiles broadly.

Jensen shakes his head, won’t look up. “Yeah, okay. And then he’d leech you of the ability. It’s better if we all leave this shit alone.”

Jensen reaches down, tosses a still-sealed pack of index cards in Tom’s direction. Tom catches them without looking up, continues writing with his left hand.

“He has a point,” Aldis says, to no one in particular.

-

Jared’s antsy for a day away from the cloud Jensen’s been carrying for weeks, but he doesn’t get time to himself until tomorrow.

Jensen’s studying himself into an early grave, pen poised above paper, so it catches Jared off guard when he speaks, ears pink.

“How long do you think I have until they press me into service?”

Jared sets down the container of sesame chicken he’s trying not to spill.

“How am I supposed to know?” Jared doesn’t mean to be short, but Jensen runs hot and cold and he needs a definite raise.

“They talk to Companions more.” Jensen looks at him, fully, for the first time in weeks. “You’re less of a liability.”

Jared winces at the dismissal, but Jensen doesn’t seem to mean any harm by it.

“You’re still young, man. They might. I don’t know. They might not need you yet.” The explanation sounds plastic to his own ears, and Jensen nods once, seriously.

“They like what I’m studying,” Jensen says, motions to his papers. “The physics behind what I can do.” He shrugs, heavy.

“Understanding it isn’t going to change anything. I’m not gonna be able to kill faster, or kill more. I don’t know why they’re even letting me bother.”

Jensen doesn’t sound sad, exactly, but it’s something more than his usual bland delivery and Jared finds himself struggling to decipher it.

“Do what? Live your life? You’re living it, Jensen. This is it. This is all it is.” Jared’s desperate to make him understand, but Jensen just blinks at him, eyes sharper than Jared really likes.

“What kind of life is it?” Jensen doesn’t wait for him to answer, doesn’t even hold eye contact.

Jared stands up, body thrumming with familiar tension.

“You can do whatever you want with it,” Jared says, “and that’s your problem.”

It’s his turn not to wait, and even if he can only go next door, he still makes sure that he slams the door hard enough to rattle the portraits on the walls.

-

He’s wound less tightly when he returns after his Jensen-free day, but Jensen looks up sharply at his entrance and Jared takes a second to wonder what it is Jensen does when Jared’s not there.

“What do you do on my days off?” Jared does his best to sound nonchalant, hangs up his coat and wanders around Jensen to turn on the TV.

Jensen settles somewhere south of him, close enough so that Jared’s aware of him.

“Study.”

Jared snorts, angles his neck backwards. “That’s all you do when I’m here, man. Do you have any, I don’t know, free time?”

Jensen’s face smooths right on over, flat.

“I can’t leave the Institute without a Companion, Jared. None of us can. You know that.”

Jensen’s back is hunched and Jared bites his tongue.

“I wasn’t gonna mention that, man.” He pauses, confused. “I. I’m sorry. If you wanna--we can get out of here, if you’ve got cabin fever, or something.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything for a second, but when he does, he’s already standing.

“I’m fine. We need to go to the grocery store later. We don’t have anything to eat.”

Jensen passes him, on the way to his room, and for a second, it looks like he wants to do something more, but the moment shatters.

Jared’s not even watching the program.

-

Jared sleeps like he's comatose.

It’s not something he’s proud of, in his line of work, but constant vigilance really starts to take its toll after awhile.

He always figures that his Ranked would make enough commotion to wake him, and it’s not often he’s proven wrong.

He tumbles out of bed at the sound, catching himself neatly in a plank before stumbling to his feet.

The door creaks loudly as he jerks it open, and it takes a concentrated second for his eyes to adjust to how dark it gets in here.

The Institute is fairly well secured, but it also doesn’t hold many Pleons due to the tactical disadvantage it would create.

Still, Jensen is making enough noise to wake the dead, and he’s halfway into Jensen’s private rooms before he realizes he’s never been in them before.

Jensen’s hands are bare, and it’s funny that it’s the first thing he notices before he lunges forward to stop their flailing.

Jensen’s entire body arches off the bed, naked from the waist up, and Jared catches both pale wrists in one hand and Jensen’s eyes jerk wide.

There is absolute stillness for a fraction of a second, Jared halfway crouched over Jensen, right hand flexing brown over the fine bones in Jensen’s wrist.

Both palms begin to shake, violently, so erratic that the rest of Jensen’s body follows suit and Jared thinks he might be having a seizure.

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.” The words run together, lowly, at the start, and then the increase in speed and frequency only makes Jared hold on tighter.

“Please, Jared. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.” Stuttered, Jensen’s voice thick and raw and Jared bears all of his weight down, flexes his grip.

“Look at me. Huh? Jensen. Jensen. Jen, look at me. Look at my face.” Jensen does just that, still babbling, and Jared takes his free hand and settles it right down over Jensen’s throat.

It does the trick and Jensen’s entire body bows into a bridge, struggling for a kind of connection Jared doesn’t think he understands.

He can feel Jensen’s body thrumming with fear, energy, and Jared sucks in his breath at the privilege.

“Can you feel me?” Jared says, and he’s hard. Straining at his boxers and he allows his eyes to run down the slim length of Jensen as he squirms once, supine.

“You want me to go away?”

Jared knows he’s pressing down on Jensen’s airway, but he can’t help but grind down a little further, tighten his grip.

Jensen’s eyes are luminous, and Jared takes a very good look at them. They’re framed by thick lashes, fanned out across his face like ash.

He relents, abrupt, and Jared takes the opportunity to grab ahold of Jensen’s dick, firm and sure and Jensen makes a noise like a sob, gutted from his body.

Jared’s fairly high on the feeling, the connection, and he drags the flat of his palm down the thick line of it.

“This what you want? Didn’t know how to ask for it, did you?” Jared grins, canine-sharp, and Jensen tosses his face away, hips circling.

“Come back,” Jared cajoles, “look at me.”

Jensen does so, begrudgingly, and Jared smiles again, softer. “I like you like this.”

He tosses his leg over Jensen’s hips, settling down over top of him. “I like how you feel,” he mutters, and then Jensen lifts his chin, vulnerable arch for a kiss.

Jared obliges him, and maybe Jensen didn’t know what he was after, didn’t know what this could be, because he makes a helpless sound and Jared releases his wrists entirely to angle his face exactly where he wants it.

Fingertips dig in with too much pressure but Jensen doesn’t know that, doesn’t understand what too much feels like, the definition of _not good._

“Let me see you,” Jared says, separates from mouth to mouth long enough to speak.

“Okay. Okay,” Jensen says, hesitant, and Jared lifts just enough to flip Jensen over, one handed.

“Jesus, you’re strong,” Jensen mumbles, some of his personality creeping back in, and Jared’s not sure he wants Jensen’s mouth to ruin this.

“Do you have anything?” Jared says, leans stomach over spine so that the hard press of his cock slots between Jensen’s high cheeks.

Jensen rocks back into the groove and stutters, eyes squinting shut.

“Do you touch yourself?” Jared presses. “You touch your dick and your dirty fucking hole and think of me doin’ it?”

Jensen’s eyes fly open at that and he nods, words garbled. “Nightstand,” he breathes, “it’s always you,” he adds, and Jared wants to paint him cream.

He drags boxers down until they’re tangled somewhere south of Jensen’s ankles, and then he’s plucking Jensen’s legs apart so he can fit in the obscene V it makes.

Jensen’s still shaking; Jared doesn’t know if he ever really stopped, but it only spurs him forward.

He slaps two palms down onto Jensen’s hips just so he can drag that ass up to eye level, and Jensen mewls, soft, decadent, sound he knows the other man wishes he hadn’t made.

“That’s right,” Jared says, squeezes one cheek until it blossoms pink underneath his hand.

“I won’t touch you unless you let me hear you,” Jared threatens, but it’s empty; he couldn’t stop now if he tried.

Jensen’s breathing so heavily it’s concerning, but he groans in understanding.

Jared fumbles around in Jensen’s meticulously organized nightstand, brushes over what feels like a stack of index cards until his hand curls around a tube.

He lifts it without looking, but he can’t resist, peers into the tight stretch of Jensen’s ass, soft, dark heat that no one outside of Jensen has ever touched, ever seen.

“Did you fuck any of your Nulls before me?”

The words are testy, livid, even, but Jared’s not a good person and he doesn’t think now is the appropriate time to try and pretend.

“N-no, you fucking. You fucking asshole,” Jensen grits out, but Jared doesn’t pay him any mind.

He licks a line up Jensen’s crack, settling on slurping at the hole, prying it loose with nips of teeth and spit. He’s also messy like this, likes the shine and the give.

He lets Jensen do all the work, humping back greedily, and he chuckles at the twist of spine Jensen makes.

“Fuck. Fuck, please, do. Do something,” he pleads, and then he’s allowing his cheek to support all of his weight as he pries his ass wide for Jared’s inspection, so much better for Jared to lick deep.

Jared pulls back immediately, admires the white-tipped fingers from where Jensen’s pulling with all his might.

They’re horribly scarred, like someone has repeatedly injured them time and time again, and that makes Jared’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar manner.

Now isn’t the time, though, not with Jensen whimpering, perfect and flushed before him.

Two finger slicked, drives them both home because Jensen can take it all.

Jensen keens on entry, body taut like a bow and Jared drives forward anyway, free hand clamped around the back of Jensen’s neck.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” Jensen wails, and Jared hums his acknowledgement.

“I can’t wait to fucking bury myself in here,” he says, and Jensen’s voice hitches on a whimper. “You want that? God. I bet you choke on me,” he continues, just because he likes the way Jensen sounds when he’s crying.

He scissors them wide, presses in a third before either of them is ready and lube is running down the back of Jensen’s thighs and he spares a moment of clarity for how _awful_ an idea this is.

Jensen’s glistening with spit and precome and Jared can see the sway of his dick, fat-violet and straining to meet his abs.

Jared reaches around, cups the warm flesh and then he’s smacking it, open palmed, just so that Jensen screams.

“There you go. You feel that?” Punctuated second slap. Jensen humps backwards into Jared’s stationary fingers, forwards and away.

He moves his hand down lower to tug at equally full balls, twists them so hard that Jensen bursts into actual tears, thick sobs of pain.

“Do it again! Fuck, Jared, fuck fuck fuck,” guttural and nasty, slip-slop of Jensen’s sloppy ass as he grinds.

“I’m not even moving,” Jared says, laughing. “Fucking my hand like a whore,” he adds, so piss-mad and aroused and he wants Jensen soaked in his own burning blood.

Open-palmed slap to the thighs; they part like a (hopefully) Red Sea and then he’s slapping Jensen’s dick again, so cooperative and bruised.

Jensen’s shining with sweat, spit hanging out of his mouth and he hasn’t been quiet, not once.

He’s gaping around Jared’s hand, and Jared thinks about slotting a fourth in but he hasn’t got the patience. His rim is slick and puffy, looks violently abused.

He jerks free but likes the way Jensen’s ass keeps pushing back on the phantom press.

He cups Jensen’s balls in a stranglehold and listens for the jerky sounds of tears.

He drags them down so hard Jensen’s knuckles crack and then he spears him open, tip to root, and for the first time all night Jensen’s body stops shuddering.

The speed that he swallows that much dick is astounding and Jared can’t be still, not that he even tried.

Push and pull, heated drag where Jensen’s never taken anything, Jensen would be burning his body up inside-out if Jared weren’t what he is, and he’s laughing while Jensen chokes on mucus and spit, reaches down to drag Jensen into a sitting position so he can rest reverse cowgirl on Jared’s lap.

Jensen’s neck lolls back against Jared’s shoulder, damp with heat, and Jared takes advantage, bites down into the side of that offered skin until he draws blood.

He suckles it to the surface and Jensen writhes as Jared swallows, tries to close his legs against the deep swell of all that dick.

Jared slaps them wide, hard, so hard it hurts his own palm, presses dark-claret on top of pale.

He pinches the vulnerable skin there, hard twists of flesh that makes Jensen’s tears run down his face to chest.

“Please,” he gasps, incoherent, and Jared presses a kiss to unmarked skin, settles porcelain over top and gnaws to distraction.

“What’s that you want, baby?” he says, rocks his hips up and away, one hand pressed down on Jensen's right thigh.

“S-slap it,” he says, hoarse, and Jared laughs, kisses again.

“Be specific.”

“Slap my dick,” he says, as firmly as he can, repeats: “fucking hit me. Fucking slap it, c’mon, please c’mon, looklook, I’ll spread as w-wide, please, fuck, you son of a bitch, _hit me--_ ”

And it’s so much more than Jared ever expected that he groans, pushes Jensen’s back away from his chest so he can see where he’s disappeared inside, hungry mouth clinging to every drag of his cock.

“If you can take two fingers,” Jared says plainly, “two fingers and my dick, I’ll beat you til you come.” He hopes Jensen can’t hear the strain in his voice.

“Okay. Jesus. Jesus, you--okay. I want ‘em,” he slurs, gasps. “Put ‘em in me.”

Jared likes Jensen close like this, all that restricted skin his for the taking, but he nudges Jensen down on all fours again, stays close so he doesn’t slip out.

Jensen braces his weight on his elbows and Jared knocks them loose, likes the way Jensen looks face down.

“Arms behind your back. You move them and you don’t come at all.”

Jensen scrambles to obey, and Jared pauses everything, this one moment where he tries to get as much as he can, as he’s permitted.

It’s easy enough to tug the rim open just that bit further, and Jensen groans with the added stretch, but he presses one blunt index deep and Jensen’s dick is almost black, it’s so dark, could probably blow any second.

“You’re a goddamn slut,” Jared says, meanly, honestly, but Jensen’s whines ratchet higher and Jared doesn’t care if everything rips, he’s about to bust and his middle finger only manages to meet the first knuckle before he’s spilling.

He pulls both digits out so he can fuck back in, wildly, pump Jensen so full that he spills over, too much to contain, great white leak.

He rearranges until they’re both sitting again, Jensen’s thighs parted so broadly that all his bruises are on display.

Jensen’s breathing is stuttered, wheezing, and Jared pumps upward in a lazy grind, takes one palm and curves it beneath Jensen’s right cheek. He raises him up, whole body suspended over dick, and then drops him back down, slick-slap of wet skin.

“How--h-how, Christ,” Jensen says wonderingly, and Jared knows he has a limited amount of time before he softens, so he slaps Jensen’s dick once, twice, tugs his balls out and away and Jensen screams as he comes, thrashes so hard in Jared’s hold he almost gives them both a concussion.

Jared’s still counting his own heartbeats as Jensen passes out entirely.

-

He could leave.

He probably should. But they’ll have to see one another regardless, and there’s no reason to forestall the inevitable.

He cleans Jensen up as best he can and settles down beside him, stares up at the sloped ceiling.

An hour passes, maybe two, and Jensen has class in three.

“They didn’t give up parental rights.”

The voice is almost soundless, worn thin from strain, but it is very much awake, and Jared wonders how long Jensen’s been feigning sleep beside him.

“Hmm,” Jared says, doesn’t want him spooked.

“They trained me not to touch anyone. From almost. Probably birth. Probably.”

Jensen’s voice is flat, exhausted.

“It’s easier than it sounds if it’s all you know. They loved me,” he pauses, “a lot. It would’ve been easier to give me up. They had another kid after me.”

Jensen stretches and then seems to think better of it, winces instead.

“Gloves. The gloves helped. Since I was little. They’re in my baby box,” he says, and his laugh comes out chainsmoke.

Jared smiles in the darkness, where Jensen can’t see.

“Anyway, I killed them.” Jared stiffens and he can’t make a sound, but Jensen carries on, toneless. “It’s hazy. I was five. I got out--I think I’d just had a bath. It was an accident. I went to hug her. My mother.”

Jensen turns his neck away as Jared turns to face him and sees the wound he made, bleeding sluggishly, blue-black-yellow. He’s not sorry.

“It happens pretty fast after that. My dad asked me what I did--he probably forgot what. What I was. It was fast. He was confused. He grabbed me.”

Jensen’s stomach goes concave.

“People seize when they burn like that. From the inside. The blood comes out of the pores. Out of the eyes. Every orifice it can find. Did you know that?” Jensen pauses. “It’s trying to escape, I think.”

“They were still, after a little while. It doesn’t take that long.”

Jensen pulls the sheet up to his neck and Jared gives up on trying to pretend he’s not staring.

“I thought it would be easier for Anna if I touched her, too. I didn’t see how--her parents were dead.” Jensen holds his breath, almost, but Jared closes his eyes.

“You were five.”

“Yes. Well. They found me two days later. The State took custody. I got a Null, and I’ve never not had one since.” Jensen turns to face him and Jared opens his eyes at the feeling.

“I don’t want to touch you,” Jensen says; his voice is bottomless, like diamond.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jared says, doesn’t smile.

“If I ever touch anyone else, I want you to make sure I’m dead before I hit the floor.”

-

So Jensen doesn’t want to be touched.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like getting fucked, so long as Jared’s doing it.

Jared’s angry and he gets it, but Jensen lets him bruise and bite and it centers him, until it doesn’t.

The Leech strikes again, close to campus.

It’s a Mesis, one with some mild clairvoyance over the weather. The girl is dead, husk of a person, and you can see sinew to bone, flesh dried like a film over her face.

Jensen’s terrified.  Jared’s been with him for almost a year now, and even he can tell.

Shuts himself up in his room and won’t leave, not for anyone, not for Jared.

Jared’s not so sure why he’s protecting an ability he doesn’t even like owning.

Jensen doesn’t speak to him for three days and Jared doesn’t know what to do with all the excess energy. He already finds it hard enough to control himself around Jensen, the desire to claim and beat bloody, and it doesn’t do wonders for him.

He fucks him up against a wall, just outside Bowdoin, some coffee shop Jared hates but takes Jensen to all the same.

Jensen scrapes his chin raw on exposed brick, shoved up on tiptoes by the thick clutch of dick. There’s a lot of spit and not much patience and Jared knows he’s gonna have to go easy later, but it’s nothing but for that sob Jensen makes when he comes.

“C’mon. You hurt? Did I hurt you?”

Jensen breathes out “yes yes yes,” like it matters, and Jared presses a barely-there kiss onto the crown of his head.

-

Tom goes missing three days before spring break.

Aldis is a wreck, curses his day off, tells them that Tom’s supposed to stay on Institute land--he knows that, doesn’t he know that, Jared?

Jared looks at where Jensen is curled in on himself, eyes fixated on the news, cheeks sunken.

They have a test tomorrow. Jensen’s holding color-coded index cards like they’re the missing link.

“You’re scaring him,” Jared says, firm.

Aldis looks at him like he’s insane, closely buzzed head hovering just under Jared’s chin.

“I’m--damn right, I’m scaring him. We should all be fucking scared! We’re Pleons too, Jay! Or did you not think of that? You think he doesn’t wanna be like us?!”

Aldis grabs Jared’s shoulder, shakes him violently.

“Wake the fuck up, man! Wake the fuck up! Watch him!”

Aldis is still trying Tom’s cell phone as he wanders out, and Jensen doesn’t flinch when Jared rests a palm in his hair.

-

They haven’t found Tom a month later, and Aldis moves back home. He withdraws all standing applications for Companionship but he and Jared both know it won’t be long until the government makes use of him again.

There’s always gonna be a Pleon that needs protection from himself.

It’s still dark when Jared returns, even though he technically doesn’t need to be back until tomorrow morning.

His body is still humming, light-bright, and he lets himself in as quietly as he can.

Jensen’s sitting in the one armchair in the living room, facing the shaft of moonlight that slants in through the curtains.

Jared’s taken aback.

“You wanna go to bed?” He crosses close and Jensen shrinks in on himself, but he doesn’t flinch.

“How long.”

Jensen’s voice is alive, heady with something, and Jared straightens instinctively.

“How long, what?” Jared replies.

Jensen takes a deep breath, meets Jared’s eyes.

“How do you do it. Why. Why are you doing it?” Jensen’s voice is pinched.

Jared drops to his knees, rests both palms on the armrests.

“It’s not a good name, you know. I’m sure there are some out there, but that’s not what I do. I’d prefer Siphon. If they’d let me choose.”

The words hang, and Jensen shakes so hard his teeth rattle in his head.

“You were tested. You said so. You said that. You’re a Null.”

Jared laughs, loves the long, lean look of him. “I’m a Companion. I said that, yes.” Jensen’s eyes flick toward his.

“That’s the beauty of being me, huh? That’s how I get them. I nullify you.” Jared shrugs, slight.

“That’s all they were testing for. That’s all I wanted them to see.”

Jensen nods, a bobblehead, stiff monster.

“It only. It only happened after you came back from your days off. Like clockwork. You’re a Venus Trap.” Jensen says, and Jared smiles. “A little, I guess. But I can siphon at any time. I just need skin to skin contact.”

Jensen’s lashes flutter. He’s colorless.

“Not you, baby. Never you. It has to be prolonged. I can’t brush up against you. I gotta really touch you. I need to mean it.”

Jared settles back on his haunches, slides his palms closer to Jensen’s trim waist.

“When I do it like that, it’s temporary. I can do what you can do.” He tilts his head to the side. “It lasts for a little. Time varies. I don’t get to _keep you_ until I drain you dry.”

Jared’s so close he can feel Jensen breathing his air.

“I’m so much stronger than they can even understand.” Jared is apologetic. “I try to leave them alive, sometimes. And I’m sorry about Tom. I am. He didn’t even really fight. He had a lot of juice. And I needed that.”

Jared takes his chance, catches Jensen by the waist. His shirt is still in the way, but they can both hear Jensen’s heartbeat escalate.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Jensen says, breathless, and Jared laughs.

“I Null. Whether anyone wants it or not, I do. That makes you defenseless. I touch you for a little bit, and I can make a copy of your ability. I touch you for awhile, and I siphon you of it,” Jared pauses, stiff. “It’s not your fault. You can’t even use the power I’m taking from you.”

“But the best part,” Jared says, leans forward to kiss Jensen between the eyes, feather-light, “is that I can use what you gave me, against you.”

Jensen cries out, strangled.

“Was it a lie? Your parents? You were never really a Null,” Jensen says, frantic, and Jared shakes his head vigorously.

“No, no, no, sweetheart. No. Unlike yours, though, they did give up parental rights,” Jared says, introspective, remembers being five and leaving the only home he’d ever known.

“I accidentally siphoned my sister, during that storm,” Jared says, and he’s over a decade away, quiet. “She almost didn’t make it.”

“I didn’t bother them again until years and years later,” Jared continues, grinning, and his fingers dance over Jensen’s forearm until a crackle of electricity pinches the flesh.

Jensen jerks back in mild pain and then his face twists, helpless.

Jared’s own face blanks out, and he inches fabric away from Jensen’s abdomen, so close he could taste it.

He has a copy of Jensen, right here. He’s had it for awhile now.

“Question is,” Jared breathes, “what do you want?”

Jensen shivers, so close to what he used to be.

“What I want,” Jensen says, brow furrowed, “is to tell you how it _feels._ ”

Jared jerks cotton up to armpits and holds his palms an inch away, chases the hot-tingle of Jensen down his arms, flame of agony.

“God,” he says, presses dry-heat to Jensen’s flesh. “You better tell me everything.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> in layman's terms, the armstrong limit is the temperature at which blood boils when outside of a pressurized suit/area.


End file.
